The Cowboy and the Lady. Diana Palmer

been a step away from him, since they were in their teens. Jace had offered to take Amanda to a dance once—a mysterious offer that Amanda had refused in silent terror. Tess had got wind of it, and given Amanda the very devil, as if it had been her fault that Jace asked her.

      “Tess and Amanda were at school together,” Marguerite told Terry. “In Switzerland, you know.”

      It seemed like a hundred years ago. Amanda’s family had lost everything when Bob Carson was caught with his financial fingers in a crooked land deal. The shock of discovery had caused a fatal heart attack, and he’d died leaving his stunned wife and daughter to deal with the monumental disgrace and debt. By the time the creditors were satisfied there was nothing left, Jace had offered to help. Amanda still blushed when she remembered exactly how he’d presented the cold-blooded proposition to her. She’d never told anyone about it. But the memory was still with her, and she’d always believed her refusal had fanned Jace’s contempt.

      After the ranch went on the auction block, Amanda had carried her journalism degree to Terry Black’s office, and the association rapidly became a partnership. The job kept the wolf from the door, when Bea wasn’t on a marathon spending spree and so long as she imposed on her wealthy friends with long visits. The sacrificing was all on Amanda’s part, not on her mother’s. Bea liked pretty clothes and shoes, and she bought them impulsively, always apologizing for her lapses and bursting into tears if Amanda was stern with her. Every day of her life Amanda thanked God for time payments. And every other day, she wondered if Bea was ever going to grow up.

      “I said, how’s Bea?” Marguerite prompted gently, breaking into her weary musings.

      “Oh, she’s fine,” Amanda said quickly. “With the Bannons this season.”

      “The Bahamas.” Marguerite sighed. “Those lovely straw hats and musical accents and blistering white beaches. I wish I were there now.”

      “Why not go?” Terry asked.

      “Because the first time Mrs. Brown was fussy about Jason missing breakfast, he’d fire her,” came the tight reply, “and this is the only time I’ve ever been able to keep a cook longer than three months. I’m standing guard over this one.”

      Terry looked out the back window uncomfortably. “He sounds a little hard to please.” He laughed nervously.

      “It depends on the mood he’s in,” Marguerite said. “Jason can be very kind. He’s always easy to get along with when he’s asleep. The only time we have problems is when he’s awake.”

      Amanda laughed. “You’ll scare Terry to death.”

      “Don’t worry, now,” Marguerite promised. “Just make sure he hasn’t been near the cattle when you approach him, Terry.” She frowned slightly. “Let’s see, Sunday evenings are fairly safe, if nothing’s broken down or if…”

      “We’ll talk to Duncan first,” Amanda promised her colleague. “He doesn’t bite.”

      “He doesn’t always have Tess underfoot, either,” Marguerite said in a faintly goaded tone.

      “Maybe Jace will relent and marry her someday,” Amanda suggested.

      The older woman sighed. “I had hoped that you might be my daughter-in-law one day, Amanda.”

      “Be grateful for small blessings,” came the smiling reply. “Duncan and I together would have driven you crazy.”

      “I wasn’t thinking about my youngest,” Marguerite said with frightening candor, and the look she gave Amanda made her pulse race.

      She looked away. “Jace won’t ever forgive me for that bull.”

      “It was unavoidable. You didn’t ask the silly bull to crash through the fence.”

      “Jace was so angry,” she recalled, shuddering. “I thought he was going to hit me.”

      “I always thought he was angry for a quite different reason. Oh, damn,” Marguerite added with perfect enunciation when they turned into the long paved driveway that led to Casa Verde. “That’s Tess’s car,” she grumbled.

      Amanda saw it, a little Ferrari parked in the circular space that curved around the fishpond and fountain in front of the two-storey mansion.

      “At least you know where Jace is,” Amanda said lightly, although her pulse was doing double time.

      “Yes, but I knew where he was when Gypsy was alive, and I liked Gypsy,” Marguerite said stubbornly.

      “Who was Gypsy?” Terry asked the two women, who both had burst into laughter.

      “Jace’s dog,” Amanda volunteered through her giggles.

      Marguerite pulled up behind the small black car and cut the engine. The house was over a century old, but still solid and welcoming, retaining its homey atmosphere. To Amanda, who loved it and remembered it from childhood, it wasn’t a mansion or even a landmark. It was simply Duncan’s house.

      “Duncan and I used to hang by our heels from those low limbs on the oak tree at the corner of the house,” Amanda told Terry as they walked up the azalea-lined path that led to the porch steps. “Duncan slipped and fell one day, and if Jace hadn’t caught him, his head would have been half its present size.”

      “I shudder to think what might have happened,” Marguerite said and her patrician face went rigid. “You and Duncan were always restless, my dear. Duncan has the wanderlust still. It’s Jace who’s put down strong roots.”

      Amanda’s fingers tightened on her purse. She didn’t like to think about Jace at all, but looking around that familiar porch brought back a bouquet of memories. And not all of them were pleasant.

      “Your son said that we could take a look at the property tomorrow,” Terry remarked casually. “I thought I might spend this evening filling his brother in on the way we handle our accounts.”

      “If you can get Jace to sit still long enough.” Marguerite laughed. “Ask Amanda, she’ll tell you how busy he is. I have to follow him around to ask him anything.”

      “At least I can ride.” Terry laughed. “I suppose I could gallop along after him.”

      “Not the way Jace rides,” Amanda said quietly.

      Marguerite opened the front door and led her two guests inside the house. The entrance featured a highly polished heart of pine floor with an Oriental rug done in a predominantly red color scheme, and a marble-top table on which was placed an arrangement of elegant cut red roses from the massive rose garden that flanked the oval swimming pool behind the house.

      A massive staircase with a red carpet protecting the steps led up to the second floor, and the dark oak bannister was smooth as glass with age and handling. The house gave Amanda goose pimples when she remembered some of the Westerners who were rumored to have enjoyed its hospitality. Legend had it that Uncle John Chisolm had once slept within its walls. The house had been restored, of course, and enlarged, but that bannister was the original one.

      A maid came forward to take Amanda’s lightweight sweater, followed by a man who relieved Terry of the suitcases.

      “Diego and Maria.” Marguerite introduced them only to Terry, because Amanda had recognized them. “The Lopezes. They’re our mainstays. Without them we’d be helpless.”

      The mainstays grinned, bowed and went about making sure that the family wasn’t left helpless.

      “We’ll have coffee and talk for a while,” Marguerite said, leading them into the huge, white-carpeted living room with its royal blue furniture and curtains, its antique oak tables and upholstered chairs. “Isn’t white ridiculous for a ranch carpet?” She laughed apologetically. “But even though I have to keep on replacing it, I can’t resist this color scheme. Do sit down while I let Maria know we’ll have our coffee in here. Jace must be down at the stables.”

      “No,